


Can I Lay In Your Bed All Day? (Your Best Kept Secret & Your Biggest Mistake)

by Emotionalsorbet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soul Mate, Cuddling, Human Castiel, M/M, Sharing a Bed, We all know who sleeps on the other side of dean’s bed, i guess?, like idk i was feeling soft so y’all have to die with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalsorbet/pseuds/Emotionalsorbet
Summary: When it all comes down to it, Dean never actually thought getting Castiel in bed could be a bad thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Luna because she puts up with all the shit I don’t finish.

Dean's going to kill someone.

More specifically, he's going to kill an angel. A goddamn annoying piece of shit angel (fallen angel?) who can't stay still for the life of him.

_"Cas."_

Cas stops. He lies frozen in the center of his side of the bed, bottom half of his body twisted to face the ceiling, as if he had frozen mid-turn. "Sorry."

Dean deflates. That's the problem with Castiel—the goddamn guy gives Dean all the freaking remorse in the world. Everything he does is always on accident or because he didn't know it was wrong. Everything is always so—

Dean huffs, sits up. Cas shifts to lie fully on his back.

"You can't sleep."

"I can't sleep."

Dean huffs again, runs his hands over his face. "But that was when you were an _angel_."

It comes out a little harsher than its meant to be. Dean doesn't turn around so he doesn't have to see what's probably Cas's crestfallen expression.

"Shit. That's not—"

"I am no longer an angel, Dean."

And god, he just sounds so fucking _sad_ now. Dean hates this. He should've just let him take the couch. Better yet, Dean should've taken the couch.

"You're not."

"No."

The conversation's spinning in circles. It's Dean's words repeated right back over and over and over again. It's pointless.

"You're human now," Dean states, making sure he's facing Cas this time. "Which means you should be able to sleep and dream and do all the annoying crap humans do."

"I've _tried_ ," Cas shoots back, and now he sounds exasperated. He sits up as well, making him shoulder to shoulder with Dean. "I used to dream. Sometimes. But now—ever since—they're all gone. If I try to sleep it all goes to _nothing_."

"But you _can_ sleep."

_"Dean."_

Dean sighs. He shuts his mouth and does this shrug shoulder thing that Cas ignores.

"I can sleep," Cas explains, slowly. He rubs his eyes. "It's just—it's not good sleep."

"You have nightmares?" Dean's concerned now, eyebrow cocked. Though, that could just be curiosity. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Not nightmares. _Nothing_. It's just blank."

Dean nods. In the corner of the room, the clock reads 3:20, and really, Dean could probably pass back out sitting up. But how would that be fair to Cas?

"Alright," hands up and down his thighs. "What did your dreams used to be about? Maybe you can give your subconscious some inspiration by talking about them."

Even in the dark, Dean can tell when Cas is blushing. His whole demeanor changes, and he looks away, face ducking into his left shoulder.

Eventually, Dean catches on. "You don't _have_ to tell me."

Cas shrugs, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, Dean thinks. Squinting in the dark only can clear up so much. "Cas."

"You won't freak out?"

Dean isn't sure what that's supposed to mean. He frowns. "I think my freaking out stage ended when the first apocalypse did."

There's a breath. Then an answer. Dean almost misses it.

"You."

* * *

 

So Dean's doing some research.

He's on Sam's laptop, because the guy seems to be able to find a signal on that thing in any place at any time (seriously, though. What the fuck?) and currently, they're in the middle of a hunt. Sam's inside, talking to some couple in a restaurant about something he told Dean about that morning. All would've been fine if Dean was actually paying attention. But he wasn't, so there went that.

It's what left him in the car, on Sam's laptop, googling what it means to dream of a person you've never met.

A lot of the results talk about seeing a person in passing, but Dean's not too sure that applies here. Cas was an angel at the time, and he sure as hell never came into contact with Dean. Not until—

Dean clears the search bar. Types _can angels sleep?_. He frowns, backspaces again.

_Can angels dream?_

That gets him nowhere. The links that come up are all bogus—all lores or myths or shit about Greek gods, which doesn't even make sense here. But the final result takes the cake.

 _Soulmates_ , it reads.

Dean, now feeling like a grade A moron, closes the laptop. He waits for Sam in silence.

* * *

Later that night, Dean finds that neither he nor Cas can sleep. They're on their backs, hands on their stomachs, staring up a the ceiling like a married couple that's too afraid to have sex.

It takes a while, but eventually Dean works up the nerve to open his mouth.

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

"Me either," and it sounds like he's _croaking_. "Think you're rubbing off on me."

Castiel sits up, like he took that to heart. Dean forgets how serious he is sometimes, until Cas does something stupid, like moving to get out of the bed to go who knows where. "I am sorry, Dean."

Dean groans, loudly, one arm shooting out to grab Cas by the wrist. "No—!"

Cas freezes, mouth in an 'o'. He blinks stupidly, and suddenly Dean wants to die. He drops back on the bed, heels of his hands pressing hard into his eyes. "I didn't—I was kidding, Cas."

"Oh," Cas whispers, nodding like he gets it, but he doesn't move.

"So get back into bed."

Cas does as Dean orders, cautiously. He peels back the covers slowly, and then rolls in entirely, setting them right back into place.

One minute passes. Five minutes. It's clear that no one's going to sleep just yet.

"You said your dreams—or, like, whatever weird vision crap angels get—stopped. When was that?"

Dean's asking earnestly. He may be half awake, but this is there now. This is out on the table and things need to be explained. Unresolved cliffhangers never did make for a satisfied audience.

"Well," Cas swallows audibly, wringing his hands up by his chest. "I—uh, when I pulled you from hell."

"Right," Dean says. He's more awake now, because okay, kind of weird. "I think that's when mine started."

* * *

 

"It's not weird to dream of people you _know_ ," Dean mumbles. "It's not."

He's talking to himself again, sitting at the main table, mug next to the screen of Sam's laptop. His thumb is tapping irritatedly against the keyboard, because _no_ , he is totally not reading into that soulmate crap, but also, _yes_ , he's totally checking out all the possibilities.

"Some big, bad, scary angel comes at you in a fucking attic. Takes a whole roll of ammunition to the chest without dying. If you _don't_ dream about that, there's something seriously _wrong_."

The article says soulmates can dream together, if that makes sense at all. They cross dreams and everything, some total supernatural bullshit.

Then again, though.

But he and Cas have never crossed dreams. They've never—well, they've never actually slept together. They've never actually had a way to tell.

Dean grunts, slams the laptop closed.

"You alright?" It's Sam, hands full of grocery bags and an angel—a _fallen_ angel—on his heels. Cas is all but buried behind food items stuffed in yellow plastic, and really, he's about to get eggs and whatever else all over the floor. Dean just can't stop staring long enough to help him.

"Dean," Sam says again.

"Fine," Dean huffs, and he waits until they disappear into the kitchen to pull the laptop open again.

_Soulmates dream of each other before they know who they are._

Dean blinks. Envisions Sam's laptop getting flung across the room.

He hits the red x.

* * *

It's later that night that Cas brings it up.

He's never the first to speak, and for the sake of all things sane, Dean wishes that the pattern would have continued. 

"You said you dreamed of...me?" He asks, voice not quite wavering, but not quite sure of itself. He sounds unsure, like he's not positive on his pushing boundaries.

Dean takes the opportunity and runs with it. "Go to sleep, Cas."

Cas nods, rolls onto his side to face away from Dean. "O-kay."

* * *

They're walking down by a river.

It's running north to south, like the Mississippi, only smaller. A pocket sized Mississippi River all to himself.

But he's not by himself. He's with Bobby. He and Bobby are walking down the river, the opposite direction of the way it runs, and they're just talking. They're just _talking_.

Huh.

Bobby says something incoherent, and Dean misses it. He misses it, because he's looking around. He's never seen this part of _anywhere_ before.

The other side of the river is raised a bit so that it pokes up higher than the water by a good foot or so. For a second, Dean stares at it. Then he stares at the person walking along it.

Cas.

He's not walking with them for some odd reason, and for an even odder reason, Dean doesn't call out to him. He just stays silent and listens to what Bobby's saying.

Only, he _can't_ listen to what Bobby's saying, because Cas is now on fire, black wings draped in orange flames and, _holy shit_ , when did those come out?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Cas is on _fire_ , falling to the ground with screams of agony, and then _Dean_ is screaming and running and sitting up in bed and panting.

Holy shit.

Ho-ly fucking shit.

Beside him, Castiel is panting as well, chest rising and falling so rapidly that Dean wonders if the guy will hyperventilate. They stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide. Dean blinks.

"Were you just—?"

Cas nods.

"And you were—?"

Cas nods again.

Dean can't fucking believe it.

* * *

The rest of the night is a pain in the ass, because every dream turns into a nightmare, and they're all fucking horrid. If someone's not on fire then Dean gets hit by a car or someone gets shot or Castiel falls out of heaven all over again or out of bed or—

It's just pointless.

Neither of them gets any sleep at all, so when they stumble into the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, the state they're in becomes a sight to see.

"Jesus," Sam says, and of course, _of course_ he's already awake. "You two go fight monsters without me?"

"No," Dean answers, groggily. "We've just been sleeping together."

Sam's unaffected. He shrugs, looks back at his laptop. "Can't really say I'm surprised."

Dean pulls a face. Cas tints red. Sam laughs so hard he chokes on his coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jokes on me because I actually finished this before I decided to post it. Ha !

Cas wants to know if he can survive on buckets of caffeine and no sleep, and when Sam says _no, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard_ , Cas pouts. Cas throws dean under the bus.

"Dean does it."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Yeah, well, Dean's the dumbest thing I've ever met."

Dean scoffs.

* * *

So they're trying again.

This time, they're facing each other, and it's so fucking weird, because it's dark, and they can't see shit.

Cas reaches a hand out.

He's aiming for Dean's shoulder, Dean thinks, but he misses, gets cold fingertips on Dean's face. Neither of them moves.

"You're fucking freezing, Cas," Dean points out, moving Cas's hand off his cheek. Only, he doesn't _let go_.

"Your room is cold, Dean."

A beat passes. Dean doesn't say a word. He just stares at Cas, tries to make out where his features are in the dark.

His own lips go into a fine line, and then he's moving Cas's hand up by Cas's chest, freeing his hands to help push himself up.

"I'll grab an extra blanket."

* * *

 

Facing each other fails horribly.

Cas still wakes up with a start, and in the process he flails and catches Dean in the nose. Dean groans. Cas apologizes profusely.

"It's fine, Cas," He sighs, but he still offers to take the couch. He still leaves.

* * *

Cas is so tired he falls asleep in the car.

They're supposed to be hunting down a pack of vampires, and Cas is so tired he can't stand up on his own two feet. Dean is so hyped up on coffee and energy drinks that he's sure he can taste sounds.

Sam looks at them questioningly.

He eyes Cas through the rear view mirror first, because he's driving, and Cas is asleep. Cas. It's a strange sight. It's a new sight.

Then, he eyes Dean.

"If he's keeping you up, he can always bunk in with me."

"No!" Dean shouts, and its only after he says it that he realizes how fucking loud it came out. He dials it down, tries again. "No, I mean—he's fine. Sleeping's just new to him."

Sam doesn't need to see Cas shooting up in the middle of the night. He doesn't need to know about the nightmares or the soulmate thing or—

Fuck. Did Dean clear out the search history?

Fuck. Motherfucking—

"You're sure?" Sam asks, cautiously, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Dean can't tell if he's hallucinating or not.

"Friggin' positive, Sam."

* * *

 

So the hunt goes fine. No one dies or gets shanked in any way, shape, or form, and Cas manages to utilize adrenaline to his advantage. He stays awake and beheads a handful of things. Dean's kind of into it.

What.

Okay, fucking scratch that.

It's just? He's new to this and without his angel mojo crap, it's impressive. That's it. That's all.

Cas falls back asleep on the way back to the motel.

They haven't been in one of these for a while, and Dean's worries that Sam will finally find out what's been happening. He worries that Sam already knows, especially when Dean has to practically carry Cas inside and coax him to take a fucking shower, because, _no, Cas, I won't sleep with you if you're covered in blood and guts._

That's not the worrying part.

The worrying part comes when Cas comes back, dressed in one of Dean's shirts and pajama pants, hair still slightly wet.

It's Sam's turn to use the shower, and really, they have about five minutes to themselves.

The worrying part comes now, like a freight train out of Cas's mouth.

"Sam says touch might help."

Dean blinks. He forgot to clear the search history. God fucking dammit.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Cas swallows. "I was talking to Sam about injuries, and how I used to be able to just like tap it all away. But I can't do that anymore."

Dean's waiting for the punchline. He motions for Cas to continue.

"And—uh, Sam said touch sometimes helps in other cases, too. You know? Like a mother and her child—when the baby hears the heartbeat of its mother it calms down. That's why—"

Dean cuts him off. He tries to remember the rest of that article, but he can't think of anything past the dreaming part.

Here's the part that doesn't add up: Dean didn't tell Cas about anything that's happening. He never mentioned the soulmates issue or the shared dreams thing. They only discussed in part, not as a whole.

Dean gets the hint. "So you want to...touch? While we sleep."

Each word is punctuated. Each word fights its way out of his mouth. He doesn't want to make this weirder, but at the same time, it doesn't seem all that bad of an idea.

Cas nods. "It might help."

Dean goes to say something else, but the second he opens his mouth, Sam opens the bathroom door.

* * *

They don't do it consciously. At least, Dean doesn't remember it.

They try, for sure—Cas puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean says, _no one sleeps like that, Cas_ , and then turns and pulls a pinch of Cas's shirt to give him the clue of shoving over toward Dean, but he doesn't move. Dean huffs, shifts and grabs Cas by the waist to pull him over.

Cas gives a startled gasp.

Sam almost sits up in bed.

"You guys alright?"

Dean rolls onto his back, puts his hands over his face and doesn't try again. "Peachy."

So, they don't do it consciously. At least, Dean doesn't remember it.

Maybe Cas didn't move, and that's it. Maybe.

Dean wakes up to Sam shuffling around the room. He's putting shirts in a bag by the table, and avoiding looking at the bed. Dean's thankful for that.

Cas is rolled into him, face somewhere between Dean's shoulder and neck and hands between the two of them. Dean's not innocent, though, because his arm is over Cas, too.

That's not even the disturbing part.

Dean untangles himself slowly, but Cas shuffles and makes some unconscious noise that gets Sam's attention and Dean to stay still.

Sam laughs lightly, but he tries to conceal it.

Dean rubs at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nine," Sam says. Dean wakes up a little more.

They made it through the night?

Only, he says it out loud.

"Yeah," Sam confirms, "you did."

There's a breath, and Dean stares at his brother for a good minute or two. He glances at Cas quickly, who's still sound asleep and all over him.

"He told you."

"No," Sam shakes his head. "You just never learned how to clear the search history."

Dean blanks. _He fucking knew it._


End file.
